Memories Consume
by RemyMcKwakker
Summary: When Sam gets injured on a hunt and loses all his memories, it falls to Dean to look after him and try to help him. But Dean is reluctant and unsure of what to do. The mistakes pile up, and soon Sam is fighting for his life, and Dean, for his sanity. SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8. COMPLETE.
1. I'll

**Title:** Memories Consume  
**Author: **RemyMcKwakker  
**Characters: **Sam and Dean Winchester  
**Summary: **When Sam gets injured on a hunt and loses all his memories, it falls to Dean to look after him and help him. The problem is that Dean is reluctant and unsure of what to do. The mistakes pile up, and soon Sam ends up fighting for his life, and Dean, for his sanity.  
**Spoilers: **throughout Season 8  
**Author's Notes: **My first multi-chaptered SPN story. May become AU if I don't end it by Jan. 16. Rated T for language. Title taken from _Breaking the Habit_ by Linkin Park.

**Memories Consume**

Dean cocked his pistol and waited with bated breath, Sam right by his side, for the newest fugly in town to make its appearance. It was a werewolf Sam had discovered a couple of days ago, following which the necessary research and investigation had been done. Now, at midnight two days later, they were waiting for the werewolf in the old shack where it liked to drag its victims before eating their hearts out.

A sound rang out nearby, and immediately both brothers were alert, their senses straining for any sign of the werewolf. It was Sam who saw it first.

Unbeknownst to them, the werewolf knew it was being hunted and had decided to set up a little welcome reception for them. It lay in wait, cloaked by the shadows, until the strong smell of the hunters hit its nostrils and it poised itself to attack. One of the hunters, however, the taller one with the long hair, seemed to have seen it.

Sam saw the glowing eyes and heard the almost inaudible growl around a second before the werewolf pounced out of the shadows – right at Dean. "Dean, look out!" yelled Sam, rolling out of the way and sighing in relief when his brother did the same.

Sam's shout had attracted the werewolf's attention towards him, which had sort of been the point. Cursing, Sam dodged a couple of swipes from the werewolf's strong paws and signalled at Dean to take aim. "I know, I'm trying!" called Dean in irritation. "The damn thing just won't stay still!"

Sam dodged a third time and then answered, "It's a werewolf, genius, it's not going to wait for you to take aim and –" Sam's bitching was cut off when the werewolf jumped at him from his blind spot and swept him clean into the nearest wall. There was a sickening _thud_ as Sam's head hit the wall, and then he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

"Sonovabitch," muttered Dean angrily. Having had just about enough, he delivered a powerful punch to the werewolf's face with his free hand and then, taking advantage of its momentary disorientation, shot it clean in the heart.

Without waiting to see it die, Dean put his gun back inside his coat and strode over to Sam, squatting next to him and shaking him. "Sam, you alright?" Sam didn't stir. "Sammy, can you hear me?" No answer.

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders and slowly turned him on his stomach, before bringing his hands up to feel Sam's head. There was a huge egg-sized bump in the back where his head had hit the wall, but there was, thankfully, no bleeding. However, the possibility of a concussion still remained, and it was a very strong one. Beginning to worry, Dean shook Sam again, this time quite vigorously. "Sammy, wake up, you hear me?"

Sam slowly opened an eye and stared at Dean. "Wha' d'you wan'?" he asked groggily.

Dean pulled out a penlight and shone it in Sam's eyes, keeping a hand behind his head to prevent him from shrinking away. Both of Sam's pupils contracted in the bright light, and Dean heaved a sigh of relief. "You don't have a concussion," he informed Sam. "Don't know how. Probably that thick skull of yours."

Sam didn't answer; he'd gone back to sleep, his eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Annoyed, Dean shook him awake again. "Let's go, Sasquatch, I ain't draggin' your scrawny ass all the way back to the car."

Sam got unsteadily to his feet and looked around. Dean didn't like the look on confusion in his brother's eyes, but decided not to comment on it. He noticed Sam looking at the werewolf's body and said casually, "Yeah, I killed the fugly. Can we go now?"

Sam's face was pale, and he didn't seem able to tear his eyes from the now-human corpse. "Is that a man?" he whispered.

"Well yeah, that look like a chick to you?" Dean asked impatiently. He took Sam's elbow and led him away, saying, "Come on, now, let's get back to Shit Motel."

Sam followed Dean in silence. Dean couldn't help noticing the way Sam looked at his surroundings and at the car like they were completely new to him, but he put it down to the knock Sam had received on his noggin. The kid was probably exhausted from the hunt, and the confusion was just a result of his injury mixed with lack of sleep.

And sure enough, Sam collapsed into the nearest bed as soon as he entered the motel room, not even bothering to take off his shoes. Dean chuckled before thinking, _I should probably move him to the other bed, the one further from the door. Just in case._ And then he remembered with a pang, _Sam's thirty now. He doesn't need me to take care of him. He survived a year without me, he'll manage for a night._ He did take off Sam's shoes though, before heading into the shower to clean up.

Dean woke the next day with the sun shining obscenely brightly in his eyes and the sounds of the TV from the room next door. Blinking, he sat up and looked around, wondering how on earth he'd been allowed to sleep in that late. After all, weren't they supposed to get out of Shitsville, Indiana, today?

Sam was still asleep, judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest under the covers. Dean swung his legs out of bed and put a hand to Sam's cheek, checking for a fever. There wasn't one, thankfully, and so Dean dressed, scribbled a note and then left to get breakfast.

He returned to find Sam sitting up in bed, staring at the note like he couldn't quite figure it out. Dean raised his eyebrows. It was just a simple note – _Gone to get breakfast, be back in a few, Dean – _but Sam was looking at it like it was a bunch of gibberish on quantum physics. He looked up when Dean walked closer, and the older brother didn't like the uncertainty he saw in those eyes. "Sammy, you alright?" he asked, setting the brown bags of burgers on the sidetable.

"Who are you?" asked Sam softly. "What am I doing here?"

Dean started. "What do you mean, who am I?" he asked roughly.

"I don't know who you are," Sam told him, looking lost. "I don't know anything. I can't think of anything."

"Okay, not good," Dean muttered to himself before asking Sam, "Do you know your name?"

Sam shook his head helplessly. "I really tried to remember, but I can't," he said.

"Shit," swore Dean. He sat down on his bed and asked, "Okay, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Nothing!" Sam answered desparately. "I told you, I don't know anything!"

Dean could not help but stare. "This better not be a prank," he warned Sam. "Or I will kick your ass halfway to the moon, and not even Cas will be able to bring you back."

"Who's Cas?" asked Sam. Dean facepalmed.

His worry was growing by the second. It didn't seem like a prank, it really looked as if Sam had forgotten everything about himself. After a few minutes of feverish thinking, Dean said, "Get up. We're going out."

"Where?" asked Sam, immediately suspicious. It was a small relief to know that at least the hunter's instinct was still deeply embedded in him.

"To the doctor," Dean answered. "He might be able to help you."

"I don't like doctors," Sam told him.

"Yeah well, tough," Dean declared. "Get dressed."

Sam spent the entire ride in the hospital staring intently out the window, and Dean knew he was trying his hardest to remember something, anything. About ten minutes after they'd left, Sam asked Dean, "So, who are you? As in, really, who?"

Dean stared ahead at the road for a full minute before turning down the music and glancing towards Sam's curious face. "My name's Dean," he finally sighed. "I'm your big brother."

"Okay," said Sam simply. "And who am I?"

_What is wrong with the universe?_ wondered Dean mournfully before answering, "You're Sam." Way to go, Dean, he cheered himself. Some answer that was.

Sam settled for that and resumed looking outside the window, and Dean turned the music back up. Sam waited until the opening of _Back in Black_ was over, before asking, "So, what band is that?"

"AC/DC."

"Do I like them?"

Dean looked at him uneasily. "I dunno. Depends on your mood, I guess." He pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and switched the music off. "Come on, Sam."

* * *

**Reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated. Flames will be ignored.**

**-Peace**


	2. Never

**Thank you so much for your reviews for Chapter 1, people, and here's Chapter 2 :D**

**I realize it's only a day after Chapter 1 but what the heck, I've got the entire thing written down already and I want to finish this before January 16 anyway, to avoid it veering off into AU realms.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"Amnesia," declared the doctor. "Ever heard of it, bitches?"

Dean's left eye twitched. "Yes," he answered, wondering if it would be considered polite to just shoot the doctor.

"Good," said the doctor. "Your bro has it."

Sam was staring at the doctor with fascination. He was dressed in sagging pants and a giant T-shirt under his lab coat, and his hair was dreadlocked. A few tattoos were peeking out of his sleeves and collar. "Why do you speak like that?" asked Sam.

"I'm from the 'hood," answered the doctor, whose nametag announced his name was Dr. Derek Haley. "In the 'hood we all speak like this."

"Can we focus on fixing my brother, please?" asked Dean loudly and obnoxiously.

Dr. Haley shrugged. "Nothin' I can do, homie. Show him familiar things an' places, talk to him, that oughta help him."

Dean stared incredulously. "That's all you've got to say?"

The doctor nodded. "Dawg you want to fix his brain, take him to a damned neurosurgeon. Won't help, I'll tell you that. He don't remember a thing, so you make him remember. It ain't a physical issue, it's a mental one. Maybe takin' him to shrink'll help – I don't know."

"What _do_ you know?" asked Dean rhetorically.

The doctor threw his hands up defensively. "Hey man, I ain't specialized, okay? I'm just a GP. You say the knock on his head triggered this? Hit him again, maybe that'll help."

Dean stood. "Yeah, thanks," he answered sarcastically. "Come on, Sam, we're leaving."

Sam followed his brother out the door, trying (and failing) to stifle his laughter.

* * *

"So are you going to hit me again?" asked Sam, on the way back to their room.

"What? No!" refused Dean. "That doctor's crazy, okay?"

Sam visibly relaxed. "Good," he breathed. "Thank you," he added.

"You hungry?" asked Dean, ignoring the last part.

Sam nodded, somewhat shyly.

"What do you want to eat?" Dean inquired, resisting the urge to sink into the ground and stay there forever. The last time Sam had been this unsure of himself around Dean was after meeting him again after Stanford. Dean did _not_ like it.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Anything."

So Dean got them both burgers again, and he almost sighed in relief when Sam finished the burger in silence and went to sleep, right inside the car.

* * *

"Garth? Yeah, it's me, Dean."

"Yo, what's up, Dean? Everything alright? Anything I can do for ya?"

Sam was fast asleep in the motel bed further from the door. Dean had wrapped a blanket over and around him, because it was getting chilly outside. Sam hadn't even stirred.

"Yeah, actually you can," Dean admitted. "Sam's, uh, he's lost his memory."

Garth whistled between his teeth. "Damn. How?"

"We were hunting a werewolf, it got the drop on him," Dean summarized. "He hit his head pretty hard. No concussion, but then his head's empty now. Nothing."

"Doesn't even remember who he is?"

"No."

"Balls."

"Yeah, I know. So is there anything you know, or someone who can help?"

Dean could hear the sound of pages turning over the phone, and then Garth said, "Well, I got nothing, but how 'bout I get back to you in a few? I'll ask around, see who can help."

"Yeah, okay," Dean said. "And Garth?" he added as an afterthought. "Thanks."

* * *

Dean woke early the next morning to find Sam looking inquisitively at him. "What is it?" he grunted, sitting up and rubbing his eyes blearily.

"I had a dream last night," Sam told him.

"Okay, good for you," mumbled Dean. "What did you see?" he amended hastily when he saw the slightly hurt look on Sam's face.

"I don't remember exactly," Sam answered. "But there were lots of people."

Dean was suddenly wide awake. "Yeah? Anyone you remember?"

"Not really," Sam replied, looking disappointed. "I mean, the faces were familiar, but I couldn't remember the names."

"Ah well," Dean said, mostly to himself, "because when has it ever been that easy?"

"What?" asked Sam.

"Nothing," Dean said, waving an arm nonchalantly. "Why don't you get dressed and we can get out of here."

"Wait – this isn't where we live?" Sam looked confused.

"Nope," Dean answered. "What gave you the idea?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "All our stuff's here, and we slept in here, and the car's parked outside."

"Doesn't mean we live here, Sammy," Dean told him. "Come on, now get dressed."

He got out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom, leaving Sam looking confused and lost.

* * *

"Dad," Sam said suddenly, and Dean almost drove the car into a tree.

"Watch it!" he exclaimed angrily, righting the car and turning the music down a little. "Don't just jump at me out of nowhere!"

"I wasn't jumping at you out of anywhere," argued Sam. Dean was almost glad – if Sam was arguing then at least some of his personality was coming back. However, he'd still nearly caused them to crash, and so Dean wasn't particularly happy with him.

"Just don't be so sudden, then," Dean snapped.

"Fine," Sam snapped back. "Fine, I'll shut up, then."

_The little bitch_, thought Dean angrily. He knew it was exactly what Dean wanted, to listen to what he had to say. And so he decided to shut up. _Bitch_, thought Dean again, before saying, "Alright, what did you want to say?"

Sam glared at him. "You're a jerk."

"That's not news to me," Dean answered, even as a little hope flared inside his chest. "Now come on – what were you saying?"

When Sam still didn't answer, Dean reached out with one hand and poked Sam's side, eliciting an unexpected laugh. "Don't," Sam said, even as Dean continued tickling him. "Come on, stop it, haha, no really, I'll tell you, stop that, haha, _Dean_!"

It was the way he said Dean's name that made him stop. He withdrew his arm and asked, in all seriousness, "So you remember someone?"

Sam nodded, his face flushed. He looked like a little kid then, not a grown man. "I remembered we have a dad," he told Dean.

Dean's heartbeat sped a little. "And what do you remember about Dad?"

Sam frowned, trying to remember. "His name is John?" It was a question, and as he said it, he looked to Dean for help.

Dean nodded encouragingly. "That's right, go on."

Sam's frown deepened. "He doesn't look much like you, does he?"

Despite himself Dean chuckled. "Nope, he didn't. He was a dead ringer for you, though." Too late Dean realized he was speaking in past tense – while Sam was speaking in present.

Sam seemed not to have noticed, though. "And he drives this car," he said, running his hand over the dash.

"Drove," Dean corrected. "He gave it to us and got himself a black truck."

"Oh," Sam said. "Big GMC truck?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"So, are we going to visit him now?" asked Sam.

They nearly crashed again, but this time it was Dean's fault. The car swerved dangerously close to the edge of the road before Dean pulled it back to the center. "What's wrong, Dean?" asked Sam, holding on to the handlebar above his window for dear life.

"Nothing, just lost control of the car for a bit," mumbled Dean. His knuckles were white and slightly shaky on the steering wheel. "It's okay," he added when he saw the worried look on Sam's face. "We're all right."

Sam peeled his fingers off the handlebar and began looking pensively out the window. He seemed to have forgotten his question, and for that Dean was grateful. How do you tell your brother, who by the way, has lost his memory, that your father died years ago?

He didn't have to worry about it for long, though. After around ten minutes of silence, Sam said, "You haven't answered my question."

Apparently he hadn't lost his stubborn traits either. Trying to stall, Dean asked, "What question?" It came out more harshly than he meant it to.

Sam looked somewhat hesitant, but determined. "Are we going to visit Dad, now?"

Dean shook his head.

"Why not, Dean?"

"Because Dad's on vacation," Dean invented. He didn't want to lie, but what choice did he have?

"Can we call him?" asked Sam. "I want to talk to him."

"No, he didn't take a cell phone with him," Dean said. He glanced over at Sam and said, "Hey, you look tired. Maybe you should nap."

"I'm fine," insisted Sam. "What about Mom?"

Dean did a double-take, but didn't lose control of the car this time, thankfully. "You remember Mom?"

"Not really," Sam told him. "But it's logical to assume that if there's a Dad, there's a Mom."

Another personality trait he hadn't lost. "Well, Mom's with him," Dean lied. "You can talk to them when they come back."

"When are they coming back?" asked Sam earnestly, looking for all the world like a little kid promised candy.

"In a couple of weeks," answered Dean, hoping that amount of time would be enough for Sam to regain his memory. He didn't want to lie.

* * *

Garth called him back the next day, when Sam was in the shower. "Hey, Dean, I think I found something."

"Yeah?" Dean was immediately alert.

"Yeah, there's this guy down in Texas, says he might be able to fix your brother," Garth told him.

"What, some sort of faith healer?" Dean asked apprehensively. "Sorry, Garth, but we haven't had nice experiences with faith healers–"

"No, not a faith healer," Garth interrupted. "This guy's an atheist. Well, he knows a couple of spells or so."

"So I'll call him and get the spells," Dean said.

"No, you won't," Garth countered. "He's not going to give them away. You have to go down to Texas."

"Is it necessary?"

"Do you want to help your brother?"

Dean sighed. "Okay, give me his number." He began writing it down just as Sam came out from the shower, his hair dripping.

"Get in the car," Dean ordered, after hanging up.

"Where are we going?" asked Sam.

"I found a new, uh, doctor," Dean told him. "He's in Texas. Let's go."

In the car, Sam asked, "Why do we keep moving, Dean?"

"Because that's our job, Sam," Dean told him.

"What's our job? What do we do?"

"We help people," Dean answered.

"How?"

Dean looked at Sam. "You know what werewolves and vampires and ghosts and angels and demons are, don't you, Sammy?"

"Yeah," answered Sam. "They're myths."

Dean shook his head. "No, they're all real. Every last stinkin' one of 'em's real, Sammy. We hunt them, make sure they don't hurt anyone."

There was silence, and then Sam said, "They're all _real_?"

Dean nodded, staring straight ahead.

"And we get rid of them."

Another nod.

"Okay." Sam settled back in his seat.

Dean turned his head sideways and stared. "'_Okay_'?" Is that's all you're going to say?"

"What else do you want me to say?" asked Sam.

"I don't know, act shocked or something?" Dean said forcefully. This new apathetic Sam was way too much like soulless-Sam – who hadn't exactly been a favorite of Dean's.

Sam shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter what we do, or what's real," he said, and his voice was so unexpectedly sincere it stunned Dean. "As long as I'm with you."

Dean blinked. "What?"

Sam turned away. "You heard me."

Dean turned back to the road, resolutely ignoring the prickling in his eyeballs. Amnesiac Sam was even harder to understand than post-Purgatory Sam. Something had happened while he'd been gone, and Sam wasn't up for telling. The only thing Dean got was scattered, worrying hints here and there that made him wonder where _his_ Sam was, and who was this person that had replaced him.

* * *

Sam woke up from his nap with a jerk and gasp, and sat up straight in the car seat. "Dean," he gasped out, breathing rapidly. "Dean," he repeated.

Sensing this wasn't just another it-was-a-nightmare-you're-all-right-go-back-to-sleep situation, Dean pulled over at the side of the road. "Sammy, you alright?" he asked, resisting the urge to lay a hand on Sam's arm.

"Dean, Dad's dead, isn't he?" Sam asked, cutting straight to the chase. His hair was disheveled from his nap, his face was flushed and his eyes were unnaturally bright. Dean found he couldn't make eye contact, and so instead he chose to look straight ahead out of the windshield.

"Dean, tell me!" Sam said, and it was the desperation in his voice that finally drove Dean to speak.

"Yes, Sam, Dad's gone," he said, his voice harsh. "And so is Mom. Anything else?"

And just like that, Sam clammed up. "No, nothing," he muttered, turning away and looking out the window.

"This is what you made me pull over for?" Dean asked rhetorically, his voice irritated. When Sam didn't answer, Dean started the car up again and resumed driving.

It wasn't Sam that had annoyed him – it was the concept of having to live with a Sam who didn't remember much of anything. How was this Sam supposed to hunt? How was he supposed to survive? And most importantly, this Sam could clearly not be left alone. He was too dependent on Dean. What if Benny called with an emergency?

Turning Led Zeppelin up high so he wouldn't have to deal with his thoughts, Dean pressed down on the accelerator and resolutely ignored Sam's hunched form for the rest of the drive to Texas.

_Oh, I been flying... mama, there ain't no denyin'  
I've been flying, ain't no denyin', no denyin'_

All I see turns to brown, as the sun burns the ground  
And my eyes fill with sand, as I scan this wasted land  
Trying to find, trying to find where I've been.

* * *

**Song is _Kashmir_ by Led Zeppelin. Great band, great song, great place.**

**Okay, I've got a request - quite a lot of people followed/favorited this story and left without replying. I mean, yeah it made me happy that people were reading and wanting to know what's going to happen next, but it would've been nicer if you'd left reviews, ya know? Just let me know what you thought, how the story made you feel, or even give con-crit, I'm not picky. Beggars can't be choosers and all that.**

**Thank you.**

**-Peace**


	3. Fight

**Chapter 3, people. Updating rapidly isn't usually my forte, but I'm trying to end this before January 16. Besides school's going to start on the 6th and I won't have time then, because A-levels are a bitch sometimes.**

**More action this chapter, with more coming up after that, in the next chapter.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Dean rang the doorbell thrice before Garth's contact finally opened the door. "Oh, you must be Dean Winchester," he said. He was in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair that was cropped short. He was tall, tan and wiry, very much the retired hunter.

Dean nodded. "And this is my brother Sam," he said, gesturing towards Sam who just looked awkward.

"Right," said the guy. "Hi, Sam, my name's Rick Kramer. I've got something that may help you remember."

Sam looked uncertainly at Dean, who nodded encouragingly at him. "It's all right, Sammy. He's going to help."

"Okay," said Sam, and the trust on his face frightened Dean, though he did not know why.

"Come on in, then," said Kramer with a smile, and led them indoors. His place was more of a cabin than a house, and it was sparsely furnished. Whatever furniture was there was old and worn out. Guns and knives hung from the walls, and there were books everywhere. A battered old PC sat in one corner. It wasn't a very relaxing atmosphere, but if this guy could fix Sam then Dean was willing to have to sit even in a cave.

"So, er, Rick," Dean began, once they were seated and Kramer was serving coffee, "what exactly are you going to do?"

Kramer smiled. "That's a secret, Dean. But it's going to fix your brother."

"Are there going to be side-effects?" asked Sam, looking worried.

Kramer shrugged. "There'll just be some disorientation. The benefits far outweigh the side-effects."

_God, he sounds like a catalog_, Dean thought. Out loud he said, "Alright, Rick. What do I have to do?"

* * *

Half an hour later Sam was sitting in the center of around 50 bajillion sigils, half of which Dean felt were completely unnecessary. He was naked except for his boxers, which were soaked in salt water. He sat shivering as Kramer walked around him, muttering strange words under his breath and occasionally poking at Sam with a stick.

"Dean–" began Sam plaintively, but was cut off by Dean's ringtone.

"Hold on a minute, Sam," Dean said, picking up. "Hello?"

"Hello, brother," came the gruff reply. "How's it goin'?"

Dean strode out of the room, ignoring Sam's inquiring voice. "Benny," he said. "How are you?"

"I'm all right," Benny answered. "Just movin' here and there. Listen, you on to anything these days?"

Dean thought of Sam. "No, why?" he said, finally. He owed Benny that much.

"I got a hunter tailin' me," Benny told him. "I figured you'd know her. Name's Tamara."

Dean remembered the tough little woman whose husband had fallen prey to the Seven Deadly Sins. "Oh yeah, I remember her."

"Yeah well, it'd be a real favor to me if you met up with her and told her to stop huntin' me," said Benny, sounding disgruntled. "She's made my life even worse than it already is."

"Would a call to her be enough?" wondered Dean out loud, knowing it wouldn't.

"Ya think?" asked Benny sarcastically.

Dean sighed. "Okay, where are you?"

"Oklahoma," answered Benny. "You nearby?"

"Relatively," Dean told him. "Okay, I'll be there in a few hours."

He went inside to find Sam looking extremely irritated, while Kramer muttered and pranced about and poked Sam. "Sammy," he said, "I've got to go."

"Where?" asked Sam. Kramer whacked at him to shut up, but he ignored him.

"I, uh, I've got an emergency to attend to," Dean said.

Sam made to stand up, but was pushed back by Kramer. "Wait for me, I'll get dressed," he said, attempting to get up again.

"No, it's alright," Dean said, hating to lie. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"How am I supposed to get back when I'm done?" asked Sam, dodging a poke from Kramer.

Dean paused, considering. Then he threw the Impala's keys to Sam and said, "Take the car. I'll hitch a ride."

Sam nodded, looking unhappy. "Okay. You take care," he added suddenly.

"Uh, you too," Dean replied, before leaving.

* * *

Dean tried but failed to shake off his guilty feelings, all the way to where Benny was. He tried music, he tried being angry at Sam, he tried being angry at Crowley, he tried blaming everything on various people ranging from Kevin and his mother to Meg and Crowley and even Castiel. When nothing worked he rolled down his window and yelled obscenities at the cows on the roadside, ignoring the farmer he'd hitched a ride with, who was looking at him strangely.

He just didn't understand why he was feeling like he'd made a big mistake leaving Sam alone. Sam was a grown man and he was a dangerous hunter. He was quite capable of looking after himself. Dean supposed Sam's amnesia had something to do with his reluctance in leaving Sam alone, but then again, Benny needed him too. If Dean didn't intervene, Tamara – a very capable hunter herself – could very easily kill Benny, and damn if Dean was going to let someone else die on his watch, in addition to almost everyone he knew.

So he just swallowed down the guilt and uncertainty and looked out the window as the truck went on in the direction of Oklahoma.

* * *

Sam didn't know what Kramer was trying to do, but it wasn't helping him with his memory at all. He still couldn't remember much, and on top of that the fact that he was clothed in only his boxers and being poked at by a stranger made him very uncomfortable.

So he said, "Hey, uh, Rick, how much longer is it going to take?"

"Not long now," muttered Rick amid his strange words in a weird language that Sam hadn't ever heard of.

Huffing in ill-disguised annoyance, Sam crossed his arms over his chest. His skin was beginning to get sore from the cold and the poking. Kramer seemed not to be tired, but Sam wanted nothing more than to sleep. His head lolled forward and his hair fell in his eyes, and he tried to lift a hand to brush it away. But his hand felt heavier than lead, and his head felt like someone had replaced his brain with wet cotton. He found he could not suppress a wide yawn. _Why am I so tired? _he wondered. _It's only been a couple of hours since I woke up._

Around him, Kramer's chanting went up in volume, and the frequency of his pokes increased. And along with that Sam's fatigue grew, until he was barely keeping his eyes open. _This is not good_, he realized._ He's not trying to bring my memory back. He's messing with me. I have to tell Dean._

He tried to get up, but stumbled and fell again. There was no energy left in him to move. He yawned again. _Got to let Dean know_, he thought sleepily, but his cell phone seemed light years away. _Dean can fix it, but where is he?_ wondered Sam. Then he remembered something; _Dean left me. Dean went away. He said he'd be back, but he's not._

That was the last thing Sam thought before he blacked out.

* * *

**You know, if I said reviews speed up updates I wouldn't be lying. Because I've got this entire thing already written, so the time I'd usually take writing a chapter isn't an issue. The more you review, the faster I'll update *hinthintcoughcough***

**Anyway, drop me a line and do tell me what you thought of this chapter.**

**-Peace**


	4. Again

**Chapter 4, for you wonderful people of this universe. Merry Belated Christmas!**

**Also, thanks for the reviews, they made me so happy I exploded ^^ *spontaneously combusts***

* * *

"I'm taking over this hunt," Dean told Tamara, just as the waitress came along with their orders. The small diner was crowded and Dean kept looking around to see they weren't being eavesdropped on.

"But why?" argued Tamara. "I got here first."

"Yeah but I've dealt with this guy before," Dean said. "I know how he works. I can take him down."

"If you've dealt with him before how come he's still alive?" asked Tamara.

"I wasn't the one hunting him then," Dean told her, lying through his teeth. "It was another hunter I knew. I heard of him through that guy."

"So what, I'm supposed to just leave?" Tamara asked rhetorically. She was obviously irritated, and Dean couldn't blame her; if another hunter had tried to interfere with a case he'd taken he'd have been pissed too.

"Actually, there's another hunt I found on my way here," Dean told her. "You can take that one while I deal with this fang."

"What is it?" she asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

"Rawhead," he told her. "Not far from here, over in Arkansas. You wanna take it?"

She thought about it for a minute, her brow furrowed. Apparently deciding a rawhead would be a better hunt than a fang, she said, "All right, okay." Then she added, "Call me when you get done with this one."

Dean nodded and smiled his most charming smile. "Sure thing," he said, hiding his relief.

"Say," Tamara said after a while, "I notice you aren't with your brother."

Dean's heart clenched, but he maintained his smile. "Ah yes, Sam's sort of busy," he lied.

"Hunting?" asked Tamara, her eyebrows raised.

"Nah," Dean said. "There's some family stuff that needs to be taken care of, and we were going to do it together, but then this hunt came up and I couldn't ignore it. He said he'll manage, and here I am."

Tamara didn't look convinced but decided not to interfere. She paid her bill and stood, saying, "Well, I'll see you around, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean replied, smiling at her as she left.

* * *

He met up with Benny an hour after that. "Hey, brother!" Benny greeted him, with a laugh and a hug.

"I got her off your ass," Dean told him, when all the greetings were over. "How's it going for you?"

"Fine, brother," Benny answered. "How about you? How's that brother of yours?"

Instantly the smile fell off Dean's face. "Not good," he admitted to Benny. "He hit his head while we were hunting a werewolf, and now he can't remember a thing."

"And you left him alone?" asked Benny.

"Nah, he's with this retired hunter who says he can fix him," Dean replied. "Name's Rick Kramer."

Benny's eyes widened. "Rick Kramer? Tall, tanned? Seems like a real friendly guy?"

"Yeah, that's him," Dean said nonchalantly. "Why, you know him?"

"Know him?" Benny repeated incredulously. "The man hunted me for months! 'Course," he added, "this is back before I got shipped to Purgatory."

"Well, what's up with him?" asked Dean, opening a beer.

"He said he can fix your brother?" asked Benny. Dean nodded, and Benny leaned closer. "Dean, you've got to go back, _now_. Your brother could be in danger."

"How?" asked Dean, pausing in the act of drinking his beer.

"While he was hunting me," Benny began, "I looked him up. Asked around a bit, you could say. And well, I didn't like what I heard."

"What did you hear?" asked Dean, his heart beginning to speed up, and the guilt coming back to him.

"He's a black-and-white hunter, first of all," Benny told him. "He doesn't care who he's shooting, as long as it's not human. Also, he once claimed to be a healer. A couple of people went to him, thinking he could fix them with his spells that he said worked wonders."

"And?" Dean asked apprehensively.

"They were never the same again," Benny said grimly. "So if I were you, I'd run back like I had Hellhounds on my ass."

Dean nodded, standing. "Alright. I'll see you later."

Benny nodded back. "You take care, now," he said, clapping Dean on the shoulder. "Go save that brother of yours."

Once Dean was back in the car he'd rented before meeting with Tamara and on the road, he began cursing. "Son of a bitch!" he swore, punching the steering wheel and ignoring the protesting honk the car gave. "Damn it all to hell! I've got to be the mother of all morons to just leave him, what in the hell?"

He didn't realize he was yelling until his throat began to hurt. "Hang on, Sammy," he muttered, pushing the accelerator down all the way. "I'm on my way."

* * *

Sam woke in a dark place he didn't recognize. Immediately his head erupted into the mother of all headaches, and he groaned. _Where am I?_

The events preceding his fall into darkness came to him bit by bit, and he remembered all the poking and chanting Kramer had been doing. He scrunched his nose and tried to remember anything from before getting hit on the head, but came up with nothing. _We've been duped,_ he realized. _Kramer fooled us into thinking he was helping_.

Ignoring the pain, Sam sat up and stretched out his arms in front of him. He couldn't see them, and once again wondered where he was. A sudden draft of cold air wafted past him and he shivered, which led him to the conclusion that he was still in his boxers. _I wonder how much space I have?_

Deciding to find out, Sam got shakily to his feet and outstretched his arms. He began taking baby steps forward. In around six steps he hit a wall. From there he began moving forward, feeling along the wall with one hand.

Five minutes later he sat down where he'd started. He was in a rectangular room, roughly seven feet by four feet. The walls were brick. No windows, no door. The floor was stone. The ceiling was high, but he didn't know how high because when he'd stretched his arms above his head and stood on his tiptoes all he'd been able to grasp was thin air. There seemed to be nothing on the floor. He'd probably been thrown in through a trapdoor in the ceiling.

He shivered again and drew his legs to his chest, locking his arms around them. Damn, but it was cold. _I wonder how long I've been out?_ There was no way of finding out.

Suddenly he heard a creaking sound, and a small square of light opened in the ceiling. He was right, it was a trapdoor. He shielded his eyes against the bright light even as he heard Kramer say, "All right in there, Sammy boy?"

For some reason the nickname made Sam's heart clench painfully. He remembered someone calling him that, a long time ago... but Kramer didn't want to wait for Sam to reminisce on memories he didn't know he had. A _whoosh_ indicated the descent of a rope ladder, and Kramer climbed down.

"How's it going?" he asked conversationally, as he neared Sam. "Not too uncomfortable, are you?"

Sam stared up at him, feeling very much like a cornered animal. Kramer was smiling pleasantly, his white teeth shining. He squatted down next to Sam and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Do you remember anything?" he asked, sounding concerned.

Sam shook his head, setting his jaw firmly. "No," he got out through gritted teeth. "You lied, didn't you?"

Kramer shook his head, still smiling. "Oh, Sammy," he said, and Sam's heart did a strange sort of flip-flop in his chest. He had no idea why the nickname made him feel a strange sort of sadness inside. "I never meant to 'fix you', as your brother put it," Kramer told Sam. "No, I meant to wait for the perfect opportunity to disarm your brother and capture you, but I didn't have to. He left the moment he could. Do you know why that is?"

Kramer went on anyway when Sam didn't answer. "It's because he doesn't want to carry you around like baggage," he said, offering Sam a pitying smile. "You're useless to him, you know, because you don't remember anything. How are you going to help him in any way at all? So he decided just to leave you."

"That's not true," whispered Sam, forgetting his temporary vow of silence. "Dean wouldn't do that."

"How would you know?" asked Kramer, in a tone Sam was sure people usually reserved for idiots and children. "You don't remember anything. How do you know he wouldn't do that?"

"Because he's my brother," Sam replied stoutly. "Brothers don't do that to each other."

"Oh, Sammy, if only," sighed Kramer. "At any rate, he's gone and he's not coming back, so you're stuck here with me. Might as well make yourself comfortable." He shrugged and stood. "I'm leaving now. I expect you to be cooperative and conversational when I return. I don't like sullen people."

Sam made his best bitchface at Kramer. Suddenly, Kramer's soft attitude changed; he swung his arm and slapped Sam hard, leaving his face stinging. Dazed, Sam held his cheek and stared up at Kramer, who was looking at him with a hard look in his eyes. "I will not tolerate rebellion," he hissed. "You will listen to me, or you'll suffer the consequences."

Sam stood up, seeing red. "What consequences?" he asked, bunching his hands into fists. "What are you going to do to me that's worse than this?" he challenged.

Kramer smiled, but it wasn't his previous pleasant one. It was more of a leer. "Are you going to fight me, Sammy? Because let me tell you, it's not a good idea."

Without thinking, Sam swung his fist at Kramer's face. Kramer hadn't been expecting that, but he still had extremely fast reflexes and he dodged. Sam tried again, and this time his fist connected with Kramer's chest, knocking the wind out of him. Sam punched Kramer again, this time on the face. Kramer staggered back, holding his face with one hand. He waited for Sam to approach before removing his hand and punching Sam in the abdomen, winding him. Sam clutched his stomach and fell to his knees, taking in deep breaths and trying to fill his lungs to capacity. Kramer took the chance and kicked Sam, drawing a cough from him.

Suddenly Sam slumped, closing his eyes. There was a moment of silence before Kramer said to himself, "Well, that went well," and the sound of receding footsteps was heard.

Sam waited till he was sure Kramer was out of reach, and then got to his feet. With a loud yell, he rushed at Kramer and knocked him to the floor, punching him in the face and chest. Kramer struggled, trying to get Sam off of him, but there's only so much you can do when you've got 175 pounds of pure muscle pinning you down. Sam punched him in the nose, drawing blood, before delivering one on his jaw and effectively knocking him out.

Panting, he stood up and looked down contemptuously at Kramer before making his way to the rope ladder and climbing it unsteadily. He emerged in what he assumed was Kramer's basement. It was full of empty cages and a few chairs with buckles on the arms, indicating they'd been used for torture. There were two or three more trapdoors set in the floor, but when Sam opened them and looked inside all he found were skeletons. Feeling sick, he staggered to the stairs and climbed them.

He took a long drink of water from Kramer's kitchen before going into the room where Kramer had been performing his "spell", looking around for his clothes, cell phone and car keys. He found them on a nearby table and dressed quickly, pocketing his cell phone after checking and confirming no one had called him. He grabbed the car keys and went outside. Soon he was in the Impala and driving off to he didn't know where.

* * *

**Well, _damn_. I've left y'all a cliffhanger.**

**Well you gotta take it as you get it. Juuuuuuuuuuuuuust kidding xD**

**Sooo... leave by a review, eh?**

**-Peace and cookies :D**


	5. And

**WARNING:**** you might, um, sort of kind of hate me for this chapter. I'm getting too much into hurt!Sam for my own good...**

* * *

Dean arrived at Kramer's late in the evening. He flicked the safety of his gun and, holding it in front of him, hurried inside. The lights were off and the place seemed deserted. He searched the entire house, every single room, but there was no sign of either Kramer or his brother. His heartbeat was now reaching speeds unknown to humankind, and his gut instinct kept telling him something was wrong, very wrong. Soon he found the door to the basement and went down, his gun in front of him the entire way.

The first thing he noticed was the torture chairs. "Kramer, you sick bastard," he muttered, making his way forward. "What've you done to Sam?" The second thing he noticed were the trapdoors – a total of five, with one of them open. He bent and looked into it. All he could make out from the dim light the basement bulb provided was a pair of feet.

Heart jumping to his throat, he descended the rope ladder with one hand, the other keeping his gun at the ready. When he got to the bottom he saw that the feet were attached to Kramer, who seemed to be unconscious. Kicking him awake, Dean aimed the gun at his face and yelled, "Where's Sam?"

Kramer was eyeing the gun with something akin to fear. "I don't know!" he exclaimed, sitting up.

"What have you done to him, you sick bastard?" Dean shouted, cocking the gun.

"I don't know where he is!" Kramer yelled, raising his hands. "He just knocked me out cold and left!"

Dean didn't wait to find out what Kramer's plans for Sam had been – he punched Kramer on the jaw and knocked him out cold, much like Sam had done (though Dean didn't know that), and then trussed him up with some rope from the basement. On his way out he padlocked the trapdoor and for good measure locked the basement door too.

Getting in his car, he took out his cell phone and dialed Sam's number. It rang for a full minute but no one picked up. His panic increasing, he tried again. When it failed to connect for the second time, Dean tossed the cell phone aside, put the car in gear and reversed out of the driveway.

* * *

Sam finally stopped the Impala on an abandoned stretch of highway, and just then his cell phone died. Not finding within himself the energy to worry about it, Sam opened the door and got out into the chilly night air. He popped the trunk, got out a gun to defend himself just in case, and then sat on the road with his back against the front wheel.

Bits and pieces were coming back to him, but it still wasn't much. He could remember his father and a little of his childhood, but that was about it. He was unable to recall anything after his sixteenth birthday, which John and Dean had celebrated by taking him out for dinner and then later letting him drive them home in the Impala. Sam could recall the dizzying happiness he'd felt that day, and it made him ache for the memories he'd lost.

Occasionally a car drove by, but no one paid Sam any notice, and he was grateful. Right now he didn't want to face the world. He just wanted to be left alone. For the billionth time he wondered where his brother was, and that of course, reminded him of Kramer's words.

_Could it be true? Could Dean really be lying to me all along? _Sam thought. _Is he really trying to get rid of me because I'm a burden? It's not my fault I can't remember anything, he knows that, right? _Sam wasn't so sure. He wasn't sure of much of anything, not after he'd escaped from Kramer's place.

His eyeballs were prickling and he tried to stop the moisture forming in his eyes, but it was all too overwhelming for him in the end. The fact that he couldn't remember anything, the idea that Kramer's words could possibly be true... as the first tear slipped down his eye another memory came to Sam, and this one was pretty recent, it seemed.

"_Everything you've ever done since you've climbed into my ride is to deceive me."_

"_Mistakes? Well, let's go through some of Sammy's greatest hits. Drinking demon blood, check. Being in cahoots with Ruby? Not telling me that you lost your soul, or how about running around with Samuel for a whole year, letting me think that you were dead while you were doing all kinds of crazy? Those aren't mistakes, Sam, those are choices!"_

"_I never, once, left you to die! And for what, a girl? You left me to die for a girl!"_

"_You left me to ROT in Purgatory!"_

"_Benny's been more of a brother to me this past year than you've EVER been! That's right, Cas let me down, you let me down... the only person that hasn't let me down is Benny."_

Sam let out a choked sob. _Am I really that bad a person? Did I really do all of things? I left my brother to die for a girl? I let him down so many times? No wonder he wants to get rid of me. I can't blame him; I'd want to get rid of me, too._

He drew his knees to his chest and buried his face in his thighs, not even knowing what to believe in. He didn't remember the events that backed up his most recent memory, but he sure as hell remembered Dean's tone when he'd said those words, his face when he'd hit Sam. And it made him hate himself even more.

* * *

Dean tried Sam's cell phone again, and it came up dead. Cursing, he put the pedal to the metal and drove off in the direction of their motel room.

Sam hadn't even been in here, as far as Dean could tell. Everything was exactly as they'd left it that morning. "Sonovabitch," he muttered, returning to the car.

It wasn't a big town, and there weren't many places Sam could be. There were only three local bars, and when Dean had confirmed that Sam had been in none of them in the past few hours, he found himself running out of options. _Think_, he told himself. _What does Sam do when he's upset?_

Well, little Sam had always come to Dean and buried his face in his big brother's jacket. Teenage Sam had always gone off, leaving a note for his brother and father. Adult Sam had, again, come to Dean, except with less hugging and more talking it out.

But Dean didn't know what post-Purgatory Sam would do. He was much too independent to be predictable, and that scared Dean. Predictable Sam could be looked after because his each and every move was programmed into Dean's brain; independent Sam was as hard to find as a needle in a haystack.

_Think,_ he commanded himself furiously.

_What would you have done if you'd been him?_ a voice in Dean's head suddenly said back at him.

_If I'd been him?_ Dean thought. _If I'd had to live a year without my brother? If I'd have to learn how to survive completely on my own? _His thought process was completely out of his control now; ideas and memories were coming and going at the speed of light. _What would I have done, if I was all alone in the world, with no one to go to? If I had no idea where my brother was, or how to find him? I'd have run_, Dean realized. _I'd have run far far away, and I'd have tried to go to someplace where no one knew who I was or what I'd lost._

Sam's actions were suddenly beginning to make a lot more sense to Dean now. _And if I'd found someone who had been through the same thing I had? If I'd been able to relate to that person, and they made me feel better? Would I have fallen in love?_ With a jolt Dean realized the answer was yes.

_And then, if my brother had miraculously returned, with a brand-new friend? If my brother had hit me and told me that a vampire was a better brother than I'd never been? That I'd let him down over and over again?_

It was coming to him, slowly but surely, and with each half-formed thought Dean was beginning to regret his behavior towards Sam more and more. _What would I have done, if I'd lost all my memories? Where would I have gone?_

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed the accelerator further, willing the car to pick up speed. _Thanks, Conscience,_ he thought, then immediately shook his head. _First sign of madness, hearing voices in your head. Second sign, actually listening to them._

He took a U-turn and began driving down the road out of town, looking everywhere for any sign of Sam. After a one-hour drive he spotted the Impala at the side of the road, with its lights on. His heartbeat picked up and terrifying scenario after terrifying scenario raced through his head. Sam could have been injured. He could have been kidnapped again. He could have been killed–

Dean slowed to a halt beside the Impala and practically jumped out of his car. It was then that he noticed Sam slumped against the front wheel, his head buried in his arms. "Sammy," he said, rushing over and falling to his knees beside his brother. "Sammy," he said again, shaking Sam. "Wake up, Sammy."

Sam shifted a little and raised his head, blinking. Dean was alarmed to see that his entire face was wet, and that his eyes were red. Had he been crying?

"Sammy, are you alright?" he asked, his tone gentle for the first time in a long time.

Sam blinked again before asking hoarsely, "Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me," Dean answered, putting a hand on Sam's arm. His panic increased when Sam flinched and moved away. "Sammy, what is it? Are you hurt?" he asked.

"Dean, I–" began Sam, and stopped, swallowing. "I didn't mean to, Dean!" he burst out suddenly. "Whatever I did, I didn't mean to, Dean, honest I didn't!"

"What are you talking about, Sam?" asked Dean, frowning. What had gotten into the kid?

"I'm such a horrible person, I've let you down so many times–" Sam was saying, and Dean's blood ran cold. What had he remembered? Surely not that time with the coin, oh please not that time. Sam went on, "I should just leave, you're right for wanting to get rid of me–"

That snapped Dean to his senses. "What?" he said loudly, not sure he'd heard right.

Sam looked tearfully at him. "I said, you're right for wanting to get rid of me, all I've done is let you down–"

"Who told you I want to get rid of you?" Dean asked, his blood pounding in his ears.

"Rick Kramer," Sam answered, "but it doesn't matter, does it? Because he's right, I'm useless–"

"Sam, shut up," Dean said roughly, "_now_."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it again, looking at his feet. "I do _not_ want to get rid of you, okay," Dean said loudly, shaking Sam to make sure he heard. "Whatever Kramer told you, it's a bunch of BS, okay? You're my brother. I'm not going to get rid of you no matter how huge a pain in the ass you are."

Sam looked up at him. "But you said it yourself," he whispered. "I've let you down. I left you to die for a girl. Someone called Benny's been a better brother to you in a year than I have in my entire life."

Dean resisted the urge to slam his head in the asphalt. "Sam, listen to me," he said firmly. "Do you remember that entire hunt?" Sam shook his head. "Okay," said Dean forcefully. "Then you won't remember that I said all that bull because I'd touched a cursed coin, and that I never would have said it otherwise."

"But you meant it," Sam said. Dean looked away. Yes, he'd meant it. "See?" Sam cried, pushing Dean's hand off his arm and getting unsteadily to his feet. "Don't lie to me, Dean!" Sam yelled, more tears streaming down his cheeks. "You hate me! You've hated me ever since you got back from wherever it is you went, Purgatory or whatever, and you never even listened to me when I tried to explain!" Previously blurry memories were now getting clearer. "You just went on putting me down, Dean! You never tried to put yourself in my shoes! Have you ever thought about what it was like for me?"

"Oh, so now you remember?" Dean asked.

Sam threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Are you even listening to me, Dean?"

"Some of it, yeah," Dean said, looking Sam in the eye. "Because you never came looking for me. Instead you chose to have your perfect little life with the perfect little girlfriend, and you didn't care what happened to me!" Dean yelled the last part.

"That's not true!" Sam shouted back. "You have no idea what I've been through!"

"Oh, don't I?" roared Dean. "In case you don't remember, and you probably don't, you spent a year hunting with Samuel while I thought you were dead!"

"You had Lisa and Ben!" retorted Sam. He couldn't remember who they were; indeed he had no idea. But he could remember the last few weeks, and he remembered thinking about all of this, often in the wee hours of the night when Dean had fallen asleep. "I was all alone, Dean! I had no one! What would you have done?"

"Why didn't you look for me, then?" Dean yelled.

"I had no idea where you were!" Sam screamed. "For all I knew you were dead, Dean! And I didn't know where you'd gone, how the hell was I supposed to bring you back?"

"You didn't care!" Dean accused.

Sam scoffed. His eyes were shining. "Is that what you want to believe, Dean? You want to believe that I didn't care about you? You're all I've got, Dean! I can't not care!"

"Doesn't seem like it," Dean observed sarcastically.

"Oh, I forgot," Sam said, throwing his hands up in the air in mock resignation. "You're the only one allowed to have feelings, right, Dean? You care about everyone, but no one cares about you, right, Dean? Well, here's some news – if you'd only stop pitying yourself and look around, you'll realize that others have feelings too, and sometimes those feelings get hurt, okay, Dean? The universe doesn't revolve around you!"

Without warning Dean raised his hand and hit Sam, hard. Reeling from the blow, Sam brought his hand to his cheek – the same one that Kramer had hit, incidentally – and then looked at Dean. "So this is how it is," he whispered. "Alright, then, Dean. You don't want me around? Alright. No big deal." Sam swallowed, looking as if he was steeling himself. "I'll go, then. You don't have to deal with me ever again." Sam walked around to the driver's side of the Impala. Dean made no move to stop him; he looked stunned by what he'd done. Sam got into the car, started the engine and said, "Goodbye, Dean."

Then he drove off, leaving Dean in the dust, staring after his own car in mounting horror. _What have I done? Shit, dammit, what the fuck have I done?_

He got into his ancient, rented Mustang and started it, driving off after his brother. _I've got to stop him before he does something stupid. I need to get to him and explain everything, take it all back._

* * *

Sam had spotted Dean in the rearview mirror and was going even faster, his tears blurring his vision and making it hard to see. His throat hurt from all the yelling, and the pain in his head was spiking. He honestly didn't know what to do anymore; he was running away from the only family he had in the entire world, and he had no place and no person to go to.

He remembered Benny, and he remembered a little of Cas and some of Garth, but beyond that it was still hazy. He couldn't remember the name of the girl he'd apparently quit Dean for, he couldn't remember what had happened with her, or why Dean had been gone for a year. What he could remember, however, was the pain and the heartache that seemed to be making a home inside his heart, and he had no idea what to do about it.

More tears made their way down his face, and he angrily swiped at them with the back of his hand. Crying wasn't going to help anything, what was he crying for anyway, he didn't even remember–

And then he felt something extremely large and heavy collide with his side. He hit his head hard on the windshield of the Impala, and then his world went black.

* * *

**BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA BETCHA DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING**

**No, I'm sorry, really I am HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA no really, I'm trying *lapses into evil cackling once more***

**OH SHIT *hides behind rock and dodges projectiles and bullets***

**NO REALLY, JUST WAIT IT GETS BETTER *cowers behind rock***

***sigh* You know what, just review, my lovelies.**

**-Peace**


	6. This Is

**Chapter 6, people. And does it make me an evil person if your frantic reviews made me smile and go all like "Yesss, my pretties, let the feels flow through you?"**

***dodges more projectiles* READ THE CHAPTER BEFORE THROWING THINGS, PLEASE!**

* * *

Dean saw the eighteen-wheeler rig a split-second before hearing the deafening _CRASH_ and seeing the Impala cave in on itself. He swerved his own car out of the way, getting out before it could even stop, and yelling "SAM!"

_Dammit, sonovabitch, no this can't be happening_, he thought as he raced forward to where his pretzel of a car was located, the eighteen-wheeler coming to a screeching halt nearby. Its driver jumped out and ran towards Dean, yelling, "Oh my God, what have I done?"

But Dean had eyes and ears only for the limp figure half-hanging out of what had been his pride and joy. Ripping off the Impala's door, he pulled Sam out on the asphalt and shook him, saying feverishly, "Come on, Sammy, wake up, oh my God–"

His brother was covered in blood from head to toe, his clothes and hair soaked through with it. His arm was bent at a strange angle, and Dean could see white bone sticking out from his forearm, gleaming in the moonlight–

"Oh my God," the trucker whispered, then turned away and quietly vomited.

"Call 911!" Dean roared at him. "Now!"

Wiping his mouth, the trucker nodded and extracted his cell phone from his pocket. Meanwhile Dean gently gathered Sam's broken and bloody form in his arms and held him close, letting his tears fall. "Oh God, Sammy," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. I should have never let you go."

* * *

Beep, beep, beep...

_Oh my God this hurts. I think I might be on fire. Why does it hurt so much?_

"Sammy? Sammy!"

Sam forced his eyes open, millimeter by millimeter, until he was squinting up at a blurry face right above his. "D-Deeaaaannn...?"

"Shh, don't speak, just listen to me," Dean was saying, though it sounded muffled. "You're alright, you're okay, you're in an ambulance, they're going to fix you..."

Sam tried to raise his hand to quiet Dean, but it hurt to move and besides someone else was holding him down and saying, "Relax, Sam, don't move your arm, it's broken..."

But Sam wanted to say something to Dean, he had to say it, it was important. "Deeeaaaannn..." God, it hurt to speak, but he had to, it was important Dean knew. "'M S-sorrrryyyyy..."

"I know, Sammy, shh." Why was Dean crying? Sam didn't understand why Dean was crying.

"D-Deaaann, n-no – don' cryyy," Sam offered. Dean shouldn't be crying, he hadn't done anything wrong. Sam was the one who was wrong.

"I'm not crying, Sammy." But he was. Did that mean he was lying? Or that Sam was wrong again?

"D-don't go, Dean." His most coherent sentence so far.

The flesh-colored blob that was Dean's head nodded. "I won't," he swore.

Reassured, Sam smiled and passed out again.

* * *

Sam was wheeled away the moment they reached the hospital, leaving Dean to sit in the waiting room and deal with the mess inside his head. He was still finding it hard to process everything that had happened since he'd found Sam. They'd fought, Sam had taken off – and now he was fighting to stay alive. How had things gotten so out of control? Since when had Dean gotten so bad at protecting his little brother?

There were only a few other people in the waiting room – a young man whose wife was in the labor room, a mother whose son had broken his arm, an old man reading a magazine, and Dean. None of them looked as haggard as he did, and he was sure none of them felt as shitty either. After all, how many of them had just seen their little brother crash into an eighteen-wheeler?

A nurse came over with a clipboard and handed it to Dean. He stared, uncomprehending, at the insurance and medical history forms, not really seeing them. The image of Sam's broken body was forever burned into the back of his eyelids, and it was all his brain kept returning to. The nurse waited for a minute before saying, "Sir, you've got to fill these in, it's a necessity."

Dean blinked up at her, and then nodded. "Okay," he said tonelessly, and watched as the stout middle-aged woman walked away towards the nearest nurses' station. He looked down at the forms in his hand and began filling in the details of the latest insurance company they were conning, as well as Sam's previous medical history. _Patient has history of getting hurt under big brother's watch,_ he thought wryly as he wrote. _For best interests of patient, wrap in cotton wool, put in big brother's car and take far far away._

He gave back the forms and then sat back in the hard plastic chair, his brain in overdrive. First Sam had gotten injured and lost his memory. Because Dean had figured he wouldn't need to watch Sam's back. Then Sam had gotten kidnapped by a sick, sadistic bastard. Because Dean had left him alone, thinking him capable of looking after himself, even in that confused, vulnerable state. And now Sam was in the hospital, swaying between life and death, because an eighteen-wheeler had decided to take a bite out of him. Because Dean had hit him and driven him away.

The sense of deja-vu was almost overwhelming. Dean was turning into John Winchester again. He was turning to harsh words and dirty tricks and violence to solve his issues. He was focusing on other things instead of what was really important – family. He was shutting out the one person who cared for him. Well, said person also had his own secrets, but when had all of this started?

Dean thought back to a few years ago, when he'd returned from Hell. He'd lied to Sam, and Sam had lied right back. They'd kept so many secrets that the mistrust just kept piling, until one day Dean had realized they weren't brothers anymore. They were strangers, kept together only by blood and secrets and lies and a shared responsibility to stop what they'd started.

They'd come clean after that, built up their relationship once again – and then Dean had taken a field trip into Purgatory. The events after that were a messy whirlwind of fear and anger and insecurities. Dean remembered being shocked at the Sam he'd met after Purgatory, the Sam that seemed independent and capable and didn't need his big brother. He remembered being angry that Sam hadn't gone looking for him. And the moment he found out Sam had been living with a girl, he'd begun using that as an excuse to put Sam down. Of course, he hadn't missed Sam's hurt expressions every time he said it, but he'd ignored that – he felt justified, entitled to hurt Sam after all the hurting he'd done.

He'd chosen not to tell Sam about Benny, knowing that Sam would get angry. He'd iced Amy, hadn't he? Even though Sam had asked him to trust him. How could he ask Sam to trust him on Benny, after not having trusted Sam? He'd also decided not to tell Sam exactly what had went down in Purgatory, what it had been like for him. And then he'd gotten angry at Sam for keeping secrets.

Of course, it all made sense _now_, now that there was a real chance of Dean losing his brother. He hadn't looked too good when the doctors had wheeled him in, and with every minute that passed the sickness in Dean's stomach grew. He knew it had to be bad, if they were taking this long.

Without really wanting to Dean began recapping on the past couple of months. He'd come back from Purgatory determined and changed, and it turned out he wasn't the only one. Sam had changed too, in so many ways that Dean couldn't even think of them all, and he was determined too. This was going to be the last favor Sam did the world. Once the gates of Hell were closed and Crowley was defeated, this would be it for Sam. No more hunting. And for once, he didn't care if Dean came along with him.

Now that he thought about it he couldn't really blame Sam for keeping secrets. Wasn't he, Dean, doing the exact same thing? For every time Dean had accused Sam of choosing Ruby over him, hadn't he also once chosen Cas over his brother? Wasn't he, even now, choosing Benny over Sam? He had secrets too, things he wasn't ready to tell Sam. Maybe it was the same for Sam. Maybe he also just wanted to wait a bit before telling Dean.

The sound of double doors opening grabbed Dean's attention, and he looked up. The doctor that had exited asked, "Family of Sam Hetfield?"

Dean couldn't help but smile a little as he recalled Sam's resistance to having a rockstar's last name on his ID. He'd given in though, after blackmail (read: after being threatened with listening to hours of Slipknot). "That's me," Dean called out as he walked towards the doctor.

The doctor looked at him suspiciously. "And you're his... what?"

"Brother," Dean answered. "My name's Dean." Unable to resist asking, "Is he okay?"

The doctor heaved a sigh. "How about you come up to my office?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, his heart beating against his chest like a frightened animal. "Is it that bad?"

"Why don't you come up to my office and we'll discuss it there," suggested the doctor, more insistently this time. Worried and scared (not that he'd admit it), Dean nodded and followed him.

The moment the door to the office had closed behind him Dean began asking question upon question. "Is he alright? How bad is it? He's going to be fine, right?"

"Sit _down_, sir," the doctor said, looking impatiently at Dean. Just wanting answers, and wanting them quick, Dean complied.

"Well?" he said with a raised eyebrow, once he was seated.

The doctor sat down in his chair before saying, "From what we could tell, his head was hit pretty hard, but there is no hemorrhaging and that's a good sign. However we can't tell how far his brain might have been affected until he wakes up."

"What do you mean 'until he wakes up'?" asked Dean fearfully. If Sam wasn't going to be okay Dean was going to kill himself.

"Let me finish, Mr. Hetfield," the doctor chided. "He's broken a lot of bones – four ribs broken, three cracked, and radius snapped cleanly into two. His left leg is also broken. He has lost a lot of blood, which we've replaced but it still doesn't put him entirely out of the woods, because his blood pressure's still on the low side. There's been some hemorrhaging in his abdomen but we've also fixed that. Overall he should be doing well, physically, but as for mentally we can't be sure."

Dean, who'd heaved a relieved sigh at the former part of the doctor's last sentence, couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the latter part. "What do you mean?"

"He might have lost his memory," the doctor clarified. "With a head trauma like that, it isn't uncommon."

Dean slumped in his chair. Damn. "But doc," he began, "he's already lost all his memories."

The doctor looked interested. "Really? Can you tell me more?"

Dean shifted, trying to come up with a suitable lie. "Well, he sort of slipped on water," he invented, hoping Sam wouldn't kill him for this. "He spilled some and then slipped on that, in our kitchen you see, and he hit his head pretty hard. Forgot everything after that."

"Did you see a doctor about that?" asked this one, whose nametag and desk plate said he was Dr. Robert Cochran.

Dean nodded. "He said to talk to him, keep him around familiar things and places."

"And did it help?"

Dean nodded again. "Yeah, he was beginning to remember some things."

"Well, damn," said the doctor.

"What's wrong?" asked Dean, warning bells screeching inside his head.

"Well, if he'd already lost his memory, there's no telling what another knock to the head will do," explained the doctor. "Worst case, he'll regress back to childhood."

_Shit_. "And best case?" asked Dean, speaking past the lump in his throat.

"Best case, it won't make a difference," the doctor said. Spotting the look on Dean's face, he added, "But you shouldn't get your hopes up. Be prepared for anything."

_Aren't we always,_ thought Dean before saying, "Sure thing, doc. Can I go see him now?" He was practically bouncing in his chair.

The doctor nodded. "Ask one of the nurses, and they'll take you."

Dean was out of the chair and exiting the office before the doctor had even finished talking.

* * *

**Yeah, I like messing with your feels, people *nods seriously***

***runs and hides behind rock as more things are thrown her way***

**Reviews are nice :3**

***goes into Jigsaw mood* I WANT TO PLAY A GAME. The more reviews I get on this one, the fluffier the next chapter gets! :D Seeing as y'all want some positive feels now...**

**God, when did I get this manipulative? Must have been taking lessons from the girls in my class...**

**-Peace**


	7. How

**All right folks, this is officially the last chapter, and after this there's going to be an epilogue chapter :D**

**HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL OF YOU *gives out cookies and ice cream and Team Free Will***

**Yeah yeah, this chapter's all fluffy, keep your hairnet on, fellas. I added in a bit of regressed!Sam for the sadistic pleasures of Samstruck and xxDodo xD haha you people can join me in my evil plot to take over the world using awesomeness and Winchester bromance...**

**Ah shit, wasn't supposed to tell you that... LOOK AWAY, YOU HEARD NOTHING, PEASANTS.**

* * *

**EDIT (4th January 2012): In the previous chapter I mentioned that Dean gives Sam's name as Sam Hetfield. In this I'd made a mistake: when Sam tells the nurse his name he says Sam Winchester. I've fixed that; now he just says Sam. Thanks to Colby's girl for PMing me and pointing it out :)**

* * *

Sam and hospitals had never gone well together. Larger-than-life and deadly that he looked in real life, hospital beds always made him look years younger, more often than not taking Dean back to the old days when Sam was still shorter than him and needed his hand held. And while he'd happily deny it to hell and back, Dean missed those days, more than anything.

Still, he preferred not to be thrown back to their childhood days quite in this manner.

He realized he was still standing at the door, his breathing heavy. Despite the surprising amount of times this happened, he could never get used to seeing Sam in a hospital bed. So still, and so white... it was like his very nightmares, the stuff he used to freak out about even in Purgatory, were solidifying right in front of his eyes.

Slowly he approached Sam's bed, pulled up one of those horrible white plastic chairs and sat down. Sam was asleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest doing little to reassure Dean. There were a couple of machines hooked nearby, but Dean didn't pay them much mind. They'd probably only frighten him more.

He looked at Sam's face. He looked so young, and almost all of the world-weariness was gone from his face. He looked peaceful and innocent once more. That was a sight Dean rarely got to see. One he liked, but not at times like these. He found himself unable to stop himself from sighing. "Sammy," he whispered, his breath carrying in the silence, "Oh God, Sammy."

Sam did not answer. Dean was not expecting him to. He continued, not caring that Sammy couldn't listen, "I'm so sorry, Sam. I should never have hit you. I shouldn't have yelled at you in the first place. Yeah okay," he chuckled forcefully, "you said a lot of stupid shit too. But that was no reason to hit you. Defile your food maybe, but not hit you." He sighed and closed his eyes, running his hands through his short spikes. "You're a bitch," he told Sam ruefully.

Sam did not answer.

Dean rubbed his eyes, feeling the lack of sleep catching up with him. "The doc said you might, uh, and I quote, regress to childhood," he told his brother. "Doesn't sound good, does it, so you better not, you hear me? I will not be wiping your ass all over again. Or going with you to the loo. Or spoonfeedin' you baby food." He let out a short laugh. "Because if I have to do all that, I'm going to very pissed, Sammy. So you better keep your noggin straight this time."

Sam did not answer.

Dean sighed again. "We're going to have a talk when you wake up, you and I," he said. "There's things we need to, uh, straighten out. And no secrets or lies this time, okay?"

Sam did not answer, and Dean closed his eyes again, this time in disappointed frustration. The kid better wake up soon. Stifling a yawn, he muttered a "'Night, Sammy" to his brother and settled in the chair, letting his muscles go loose. He drifted off in a matter of minutes.

* * *

Dean woke the next morning to find Sam on his side, clearly having moved himself. That was a good sign – it meant Sam had moved from drug-induced unconsciousness to sleep. Holding out hope that he'd wake up soon, Dean went to the bathroom and then left to get himself coffee and maybe a bagel.

He returned to find Sam awake, lying in the bed and looking around with a confused expression on his face. Forgetting about his breakfast, he strode over to Sam's side and sat down on the bed, saying "Hey there, Sammy."

"Dean?" Sam asked, his voice so little and lost that Dean's heart sank. Turned out the doctor had been right.

Nevertheless, he smiled encouragingly and said, "Yeah, it's me, Sammy."

"Dean, where am I?" Sam asked, clutching the sheets tightly.

"You, uh, you got hurt," Dean summarized for him. "You have to stay in here a while."

Sam actually pouted, his hands moving to grab the hem of Dean's jacket. "I don't like it, Dean," he said plaintively. "It hurts. Make it stop."

Dean swallowed. "What do you want me to do, Sammy?" he asked, hoping it would be limited to hand-holding at the most.

"Fix it," Sam whispered. "Make the boo-boo go away."

_Oh God, he's worse than I thought if he's using the term "boo-boo", _thought Dean. Out loud he said, "How old are you, Sammy?"

Sam looked thoughtful. "Five?" he said uncertainly after a few moments. "I'm a big boy now, aren't I, Dean?"

Dean frowned. "Dammit," he cursed. "Look," he said to his brother, "I don't care how bad it hurts, I will _not_ go with you to the bathroom, okay? You're going to have to do that yourself."

Sam's bottom lip began shaking, and his eyes were watering up. "But – but–" he whimpered. "But Dean, I'm _scared_!" He began shaking, and Dean groaned internally. _Oh fuck._Without really knowing what to do, he leaned forward and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, wondering what in the hell to say.

Finally he came up with, "Aw come on, Sammy, don't cry..."

But Sam wasn't shaking from sobs. He was shaking with laughter. Sitting back and narrowing his eyes at him, Dean asked, "Why are you laughing?"

"I can't believe you fell for it!" Sam choked out between laughs. "I can't believe you totally bought into it, man! You thought I was a kid again!"

Dean's face fell as he realized he'd been punked. "Why, you little bitch," he growled, now feeling furious. "I'm going to chop your head off," he threatened.

"No, you're not," Sam informed him breathlessly, his face flushed. At the look on Dean's face he fell apart again. "Oh man, you should have seen the look on your face!"

It felt good to see Sam laugh so openly again, Dean had to admit. Even if it was at his expense. But boy, Sam had got him _good_. The little twerp had always been good at acting. Not wanting to admit defeat, however, Dean said, "So, uh, how are you feeling?"

Sam stopped laughing, though the vestiges of a smile remained on his face. "Okay, I guess," he answered. "It still hurts in some places, but I've had worse." He cocked his head slightly towards his broken arm.

"Yeah well, you'll heal up," Dean said. Then he cleared his throat purposefully. It was time for the talk to begin. "Listen, Sammy." Sam stopped chuckling at once, sat up and looked attentively at Dean. "How much do you remember, of what happened?"

Sam's brow furrowed, and he seemed to hesitate before he replied, "Everything."

"As in, everything that happened before you crashed?" asked Dean.

Sam shook his head, his mop of hair flying everywhere. "No, as in I remember _every_thing."

"_Everything_?" Dean inquired skeptically. "Okay, tell me what we did on 25th December of 2008."

Sam smiled somewhat wistfully at his brother. "Your deal was coming due," he said. "I set up a Christmas tree in our motel room, and we sort of celebrated."

"Okay, you have no idea how glad I am to hear that," said Dean, before looking down at his knees and trying to think of a way to address the real issue at hand. Finally he looked up at Sam again and said, "You know we need to talk, right?"

Sam nodded earnestly. "And no secrets and lies," he completed. "I could hear you talking last night, you know."

Dean was surprised. "You could, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam told him. "Not clearly, though. You sort of sounded like you were singing really bad opera."

Dean let out a snort at that. "Yeah well, I bet I still sounded better than you when you sing," he said. "You should hear yourself in the shower." He launched into an exaggerated mockery of Sam. "_Even as I waaaaaaaander I'm keepin' you in si-ight, you're a candle in the windoooow on a cold n' dark winter's ni-ight, and I'm getting closeeer than I ever thought I miiiiiight..."_

Sam socked him with his good arm, his face red. "I do _not_ sound like that!" he said crossly. "I don't even sing in the shower!"

Dean chuckled. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Cinderella." Then he turned serious again. "Okay, listen to me now. We've got things to talk about."

Sam sighed unhappily and looked away. "I'm sorry, Dean," he began in a low voice. "For what I said last night–"

"I'm sorry too," interrupted Dean, "but that's not my point. My point is, we've been lying to each other ever since I came back. We haven't been completely honest. That's got to stop."

Sam nodded, knotting his fingers together and staring at them. Dean went on, "I mean, all of this lying and cheating and dirty tricks and not trusting each other – that can't go on, Sammy. It's going to destroy us both. Hell, it almost did a couple years back."

"I never wanted to lie to you," admitted Sam. "But sometimes I felt like I had no choice. You just weren't ready to listen."

Dean nodded. "I know, Sammy," he answered. "And I'm sorry. Believe me, I am. But the next time that happens, you just sock me in the gut, alright?"

Sam nodded seriously. "Continue being a dick and I just might," he promised.

Dean smirked. "Good." Then he said, "But you know, you hurt me too. When you said you didn't look for me."

Sam looked away again. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said sincerely. "But I can't – I mean – can we not talk about that just yet?" He looked up at Dean earnestly. "I just – I don't think I'm ready for it yet, you know?"

"I do," Dean said, "and I will not force you to talk on that anymore. Deal?"

Sam smiled. "Deal."

"But," Dean interjected, "you've got to stop bitching at me too."

"I do not bitch," protested Sam.

"Yes you do," Dean told him. "All the damn time. And while I mostly tune it out, sometimes it gets on my nerves."

"I'll stop," Sam said, looking resolute.

"Also," Dean said, taking advantage of Sam's compliance. "You've got to trust me on Benny."

"You never trusted me on Amy," Sam pointed out.

Dean sighed. "Yes, I know. And I'm sorry. I should have let you take care of it."

Sam looked uncertain for a minute before saying, "Okay. You're forgiven. But," he added as he remembered, "there's a few things I've got to clarify." He waited until Dean gave him a nod, and then said, "For the record, I did _not_ leave you to die for a girl. Whatever happened with Amelia happened a lot of time _after_ you took a trip into Purgatory, okay?" Dean nodded, looking somewhat ashamed of himself. "Also," Sam continued, "I'll admit I made mistakes. But that's all they were – mistakes. Not choices. And I fixed them. You know I did." His jaw was set. "You've got to stop calling me out on that, Dean."

Dean nodded. "You have my word. And for the record, I apologize. It was downright dirty of me, and it will not happen again."

Sam offered a slight grin. "Yeah, thanks."

Dean gave Sam a half-smile back. "Alright then, we good? Or anything else?" he queried.

"Just one more thing," Sam said, but this time he looked somewhat unwilling.

"Alright, shoot," said Dean, wondering what it was.

"You've been treating me different," Sam began uncertainly. "Like, you don't really, uh, look after me anymore." He looked like a little kid saying so.

Dean looked surprised but also a little contrite. "I didn't think you needed it," he admitted. "You seemed so independent, it was almost like you didn't need me to take care of you."_And look where it got us,_ he thought to himself.

"I had to be independent," Sam explained. "I was all alone, Dean, there was no one to look after me. But when you're around, I don't have to – I mean – look, what I'm trying to say is, you're still my big brother." He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "And nothing's going to change that. So can you just, uh, continue being my big brother?"

Dean thought about that. "Doesn't sound too bad," he said with a shrug, but he was smiling widely. "So do we have an agreement?"

"We have an agreement," Sam confirmed, looking truly happy for the first time in months.

Dean faltered when he saw Sam looking expectantly at him. "I ain't gonna hug you!" he cried indignantly. "It's bad enough we just had the greatest chick-flick moment in Winchester history!"

"Come on, man," Sam implored, unleashing on full power the Puppy Dog Eyes of Greatest Doom Known to Mankind, Like, Ever™. "Just a small one, please, Dean?"

"Dammit, I hate it when you do that," grumbled Dean, but moved forward and wrapped his arms around his baby brother just the same.

Sam hugged him back with surprising force, his grip tightening on Dean's jacket. "Jerk," he muttered into Dean's shoulder, and Dean just had to smile fondly. "Bitch," he answered, patting Sam's head.

Translation: _I love you._

_I love you too._

They pulled away and smiled at each other, just as the nurse entered. "Oh, you're awake," she said brightly to Sam. "Now tell me your name, pumpkin."

Sam looked disgruntled at being treated like a toddler by a nurse who wasn't much older than himself. "My name is Sam," he replied. "And my memory's fine."

The nurse – Amanda, said the nametag – looked astonished. Managing a smile, she said, "Well, that's just wonderful, Sammy."

"Sam," corrected Sam. "Only _he_ gets to call me Sammy," he told her, tilting his head in Dean's direction. Dean smirked at the nurse.

"So, sweetheart," he said, all lecherous smiles and charm, "you free tonight?"

She tittered at him. "I still have to get your brother to the doctor," she said, unhooking Sam from all the machines and beginning to wheel him away along with his IV. "But I might be up for a beer tonight," she added suggestively.

Dean grinned at her. "Perfect."

"Dean," Sam groaned, rolling his eyes at his brother. Dean grinned back, winking in the direction of the nurse, who laughed.

"You're such a little cutie," she said, pulling Sam's cheek, much to his chagrin.

"I'm a grown man," he said in a tone that was dangerously whiny. "I'm not a kid..."

Dean laughed as his brother was wheeled away. "I'll have your teddy ready for you when you come back, Sammy," he called after the kid, and grinned when he heard Sam call back, "Bite me."

* * *

**Yeah see, I kept my promise, there's your fluff.**

**And to Samstruck: I'm sorry I couldn't keep regressed!Sam xD I added it in just for you and Dodo, and besides it seemed like too much to put the boys through at this stage, I'm not quite _that_ cruel xD BUUUUUUUT I might consider doing a regressed!Sam story later on, maybe after Jan. 16, so you could watch out for that ;)  
**

**Speaking of which, January 16 is a lot closer this side of New Year's Day... I CANNOT WAIT THE FEELS ARE SLOWLY KILLING I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED OKAY I'M SLOWLY DYING THIS IS HORRIBLE BY NOW I'M PRETTY SURE KRIPKE IS DEMON SPAWN OKAY**

***clears throat* Ahem. So, hey people, I gave you fluff, you give me reviews and that way everyone's happy *nods wisely***

**-Peace**

**PS: That song hat Dean makes fun of Sam singing is _Can't Fight This Feeling_ by REO Speedwagon. God bless classic rock, and God bless Dean Winchester for introducing me to it.**

**-Peace again, and leave by a review or I'll come after you with a silver-coated machete, but no pressure :D**


	8. It Ends (Epilogue)

**Epilogue, wonderful human beings of the earth.**

**Okay, now that this story is done, I'd love to thank each and every one of you, for your support and for being awesome in general. I freaking love you :D and I could never thank you enough.**

**Special thanks to xxDodo, agent iz hyper and Samstruck for your awesomely awesome reviews and for inspiring me. Keep rocking, dudes :D**

***looks around* So is the chick-flick moment over? Good :P**

**BUT WAIT THERE BE MOAR!**

**This chapter is basically the end of it, so yeah. This story's been an awesome ride, not to mention I've probably broken a record of some sort, finishing a chaptered story in what, a week and a half? It usually takes me that long just to write three paragraphs, curse me and my procrastination and tumblr that loves to distract me.**

**Carry on, my wayward dudes.**

* * *

"So he remembers everything?" asked the doctor, looking inquiringly at Dean.

"Yeah," answered Dean. "His previous amnesia's gone."

"Well, that's unusual," mused the doctor, "but not unheard of. It's a good sign. It means his brain is perfectly fine."

"And what about his, uh, body?" asked Dean, sounding relieved.

"Seems to be healing up well," the doctor said, handing Dean a copy of Sam's most recent vitals. "He should be out of here in no time."

"I'm right here, you know," Sam called out irritably.

Both Dean and the doctor laughed. "Yeah, we know, Sammy," Dean said, before squinting down at the sheet and handing it to his brother. "Translate this for me, eh, Sammy?"

Sam took a cursory glance at the paper before looking grouchily at Dean. "It means I'm fine," he groused. "Heart rate, blood pressure, everything's okay."

"Awesome," declared Dean, clapping his kid brother on the shoulder.

The doctor cleared his throat, directing the brothers' attention back to him. "We'll X-ray your arm again in a couple of days," he told Sam, "and I'm going to prescribe some medication that should help with the pain. Take it regularly and on time, and the pain won't bother you at all."

Sam nodded. "Thank you."

The doctor turned to Dean. "And you," he began warningly, "make sure he's not too stressed, and that he doesn't overexert himself."

Dean nodded seriously. "Will do," he promised. "Don't worry about it, doc," he added, patting Sam's head.

Sam scrunched up his nose. "I'm not a baby," he grumbled. "Stop treating me like one."

The doctor smiled at them and left. Dean said, "I thought you wanted me to?"

"I said I wanted you to be my big brother," Sam clarified, looking irritated. He wasn't really, but he didn't want to admit he liked being spoiled by his brother. "I didn't ask for you to feed me and wash me and kiss me goodnight–"

"Don't push it, princess," warned Dean, wagging his index finger at his brother. "Or I might reconsider chopping your head off."

Sam grinned. "Nah, you won't," he said confidently.

Dean grinned right back. "Yeah," he admitted. "And I do not feed you, wash you and kiss you goodnight, bitch."

"You sure try to," teased Sam. "Jerk," he added as an afterthought.

* * *

Sam noticed the manic look on Dean's face right away, and got straight to the point. "What have you done?" he asked flatly, folding his arms across his chest.

Dean walked calmly into the room and sat down on the bed next to Sam, pushing him over and lifting his legs up. Without saying a word he switched on the little TV mounted on the wall and began surfing through channels.

"Dean. Dean. _Dean._"

He finally looked at Sam, raising an eyebrow nonchalantly. "What, Sam?"

"What have you done?"

Dean tossed the remote aside and gave Sam a smile that chilled him. Dean looked like he did when they were on a hunt. "I paid Kramer a little visit," he said casually.

"You what?" Sam said, a bad feeling making itself known in his gut.

"You heard me," Dean said with a shrug. "Met up with the guy."

Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder and made eye contact. "Dean," he said, a note of pleading in his voice, "please tell me you didn't..."

The hardened look on Dean's face became more pronounced as he said, "Yeah, I dealt with him."

"Meaning?" asked Sam, feeling a little faint.

Irritated with the endless barrage of questions, Dean finally said, sounding impatient, "I shot him, okay, Sam? Put a bullet through his head. There, happy now?"

Sam's grip on his brother's shoulder tightened; his knuckles were white. "Why, Dean?" he all but whispered.

"The fucker was planning on doing inappropriate things to you, Sam," Dean reminded him. "You didn't expect me to do nothing about it, did you?"

Sam's eyes were wet, but not from any sort of grief. He had just begun truly remembering the lengths Dean was willing to go for him. "Dean, I don't know what to say," he muttered, looking away.

Dean looked at him with something strangely akin to love playing on his face. "You don't have to say anything," he said softly.

Sam smiled at him through his tears. "Thank you," he said.

Dean just smiled back and patted Sam's hand. "Don't mention it, Sammy," he said warmly. "The dick got what he deserved."

* * *

Sam was discharged a week and half after that conversation. He'd wanted to leave earlier, but Dean was having none of it and had made him stay until the doctors said it was alright for him to leave. By that time there was no sign he'd been hurt at all, except for the huge cast on his arm which Dean had wasted no time in signing. It now read, in large purple letters, _My name is Sam Winchester, and I like Barbies, pretty dresses and the color pink. I'm also a little bitch and I have OCD. My big brother is awesome and I totally idolize him._

While that last part was true, the rest of the "autograph" didn't please Sam too much.

Dean had gotten the Impala fixed in the time that he didn't spend with Sam at the hospital. He'd found a guy nearby who was willing to do it cheap, and he'd helped out as much as he could. Soon the Impala was back in perfect condition and the brothers were ready to roll.

As they drove off, they couldn't help reflecting on the past few weeks. They'd been hell for both of them, but they'd come out of it refreshed and better than ever. It was a new beginning, a fresh start, a brand-new chance – whatever you wanted to call it – for both of them. And both were determined to ensure that the pain and hurt of the last few weeks wasn't going to be in vain.

Twenty miles out of Shitsville, Indiana, Sam said, "Dean? Thank you."

His voice was so sincere that Dean felt affection well up inside him in copious quantities. He reached out and mussed Sam's hair fondly, saying, "You too, Sammy. You too."

Sam smiled as Dean's hand came to rest on his shoulder. "It's been an eventful couple of weeks, hasn't it?" he murmured.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah," he said quietly. He didn't move his hand away, but instead relocated it so that it was now on the back of Sam's neck. Sam tried to be inconspicuous as he shifted closer to Dean and leaned into the touch. He'd needed this. They both had.

They drove on, listening to Soundgarden blaring from the Impala's speakers, just enjoying their quiet, rare solitude and being brothers again. The road vanished in the rearview mirror and Sam soon fell asleep, tired out already. The two weeks in the hospital had exhausted him.

Dean pulled the car over, got out, popped the trunk and found an old blanket that Sam used to love as a kid. He wrapped it around his sleeping brother and tucked it in at the sides, before starting the engine again and continuing on their journey.

It had taken a long time and lots of heartache to get to where they were. And there was nothing in the world Dean would exchange for it.

_We're insane but not alone  
__You hold on, you let go  
__Like the sun we will live to rise  
__Like the sun we will live and die, and then  
__Ignite again  
__Like the sun we will live to rise, again_

_**Le End.**_

* * *

**Soooooooo... liked it? Hated it? Wanted to feed it kittens and unicorns? Let me know in the reviews :D**

**That song in the end is _Live to Rise_ by Soundgarden, some of you might have heard it since it's in the _Avengers Assemble _Soundtrack. It's awesome :3**

**I love you all and I'm going to miss this *sniff* :')**

**-Peace**


End file.
